


in the land of gods and monsters

by Zvyozdochka (OfCloudlessClimes)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Clubbing, I'm going straight to Hell, I'm not sorry, M/M, NSFW, Yurio is a minx, dancer!yuri, dj!otabek, idek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 07:50:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9983939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfCloudlessClimes/pseuds/Zvyozdochka
Summary: And Otabek personally liked himself a drunk Yuri, especially when he became the kind of tipsy that was twice the fun and twice the incorrigible little hellcat that he was, all graceful limbs and pretty eyes alight with a watery, unearthly green. Absinthe and honey and all the dangerous things in between.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This used to be a fic I wrote for another fandom a few years ago that I have all but abandoned. But, since I didn't have the heart to delete it from living memory, I decided to give it an overhaul and a new (permanent) home where I thought it would be more relevant and fitting. I'd love to hear from you guys - I welcome any and all YOI talk because YOIIIII.
> 
> EDITED. Because I'm that dweeb who didn't notice she posted the wrong draft.

It was dark, deafening; terrifying and beautiful at the same time. Like going down a rabbit hole and seeing no end in sight. Alice in Wonder-fucking-land and he'd just passed Tipsy a couple of shots ago.

Everywhere he looked there was love and hate in all its ugly, glorious forms; androgyny melted into one swirling mass moving to the music that smothered them in every direction. " _Fame, liquor, love, give it to me slowly..._ " Yuri thought, grasping the lyrics of the song. Or at least he thought he thought. He wasn't sure, couldn't with all the buzzing going on inside his ears. Who gave a shit.

Yuri swayed to the kinetic rhythm surrounding him like he was floating inside his own pot of dreams. Multi-colored beams of light cut through the static air and they fascinated him to no end. By then his senses were so diluted: Jægermeister in his bloodstream that even his hands looked like they were coated in magic. At one point, he even tried to lick off a neon pink glow on his palm. He giggled— _giggled_ —because his palms were ticklish.

But one thing remained sure and certain: he wanted only _one_ audience and _he_ better be watching.

———

From his high podium at the DJ's booth, Otabek could barely peel his eyes away as he tracked Yuri spinning the solar system of bodies around him like the sun attracted the planets. He was a bright spot in the middle of all that centrifuge, a blazing star. A tempest with its own gravity. He was inebriated, that much was true, enough that his limbs were loose and his gaze was unfocused. But there was no mistaking the _want_ that telegraphed a clear message across gyrating floor. A call for attention? For hands on his body? Otabek can do both. He _wants_ to do both.

And Otabek personally liked himself a drunk Yuri, especially when he became the kind of tipsy that was twice the fun and twice the incorrigible little hellcat that he was, all graceful limbs and pretty eyes alight with a watery, unearthly green. Absinthe and honey and all the dangerous things in between.

But there was something different about Yuri that night as he continued to dance unfettered by the world outside the music. The way he moved wasn't just a mindless choreography: it was a melody in physical form, as if the alcohol had stripped him of his angles and turned him into tangents rolling with sultry sighs. His eyes were closed, giving more spell to his allure, and the smile on his lips was like an invitation to anyone who looked his way.

But Otabek knew the invitation was clear and poignantly exclusive.

He watched him, trained eyes on him from one hot beat to another. Despite that the boy was practically folded in by the throng, nothing else existed for Otabek outside that sphere where Yuri lost himself in. He created a volatile storm in his own little world, and reveled in the chaos he created.

He was irresistible. Where Otabek was like earth, solid and stubborn, Yuri was righteous like fire and treacherous like ice. They were opposites but completely in sync.

Nothing else caused Otabek to quake like Yuri did.

Relinquishing his command to another DJ manning the booth with him, Otabek jumped down the stage and into the fray. The world around him slowed as he made his way towards his little dancer; fuck all the warning bells that rang in his head as he approached. He knew Yuri had claws and they were never blunt, but the Kazakh was a fool and reckless to a fault, and Yuri wasn't making it any easier moving like he did.

Drawing closer, Otabek wrapped an arm around Yuri's waist in one possessive swoop and pulled him flush against his body, knees to chest, swaying in the rhythm his own music pumped into his blood.

Parted lips found a spot underneath Yuri's jaw and glided along that invisible path only he knew would strum Yuri's strings. And when he felt that tell-tale ripple thrum down the boy's back, he allowed himself a triumphant smile, his gut fluttering as a billow of heat spread from where he ended and Yuri began.

"I was beginning to think you were ignoring me." Yuri wound his arms around Otabek's neck as he tucked his lips close to the man's ear, his voice carrying a thick, dulcet strain.

Otabek's hands sought for warm, sweat-sweetened flesh as they found their way under the shirt on Yuri's back. He raked his nails down the boy's spine and the gasp that came flooding into his ear was exquisite.

"The best dancer in Russia in my club? You think me a fool, Plisetsky. Or blind." He breathed.

Yuri pressed his hips against Otabek's thigh. A soft, warm tongue darted out to catch the sweat that rolled down his neck.

"I fuck even better than I dance, Altin. Surely you’re no longer blind to this."

Otabek's hold on him tightened and his thigh slid between Yuri's, grinding up. Yuri threw his head back in a shameless, curling moan in answer.

Otabek completely lost all sense of reason.

"You. On my bike," The Kazakh growled low and dark and warningly. "Now."

Yuri's fingernails raked across the buzz of Otabek's undercut and up under the tie that held the rest of his hair and pulled, effectively loosening his hair looped into a bun. A grin crawled on his face that reflected the man's promise, gaze clear and clever and demanding.

"Aww, you do love me," he smiled against Otabek's lips, heart fluttering against his ribcage beyond the limits of his will.

 _‘Like crazy.’  
_  
Otabek's kiss was sweet and tender, a contrast to the crescendo they've built. But that was Otabek in his distilled form; it was just like him and what Yuri liked, chivalry tucked neatly in that undercurrent of heat. "I was beginning to think _you_ didn't."

A smile, soft and contrary that revealed the Yuri that enchanted him all those years ago under the Spanish sunset, flitted across the boy’s face. “Oh, Beka,” _My Beka,_ he purred. “Let me show you, then. As many times as you like.”


End file.
